A Day in Paris
by stironniganisreal
Summary: Yet another bday prezzie fanfic. This one is for akarnae college medora on Instagram. She kinda really likes French so that's what I went with. HAPPY BDAY MISTY!


**Yes, yes, I know. Once again I am at fault for failing to deliver another update on a current fic but at the same time publishing a fic clearly irrelevant. And once again, this fanfic was a birthday present to another beloved fellow TMC fan.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Lynette Noni**

Alexandra Jennings, a fourteen-year-old tourist currently lounging on the velvety lawns that led up to the Eiffel Tower, was certain she'd just earned herself about six months' worth of being grounded.

In her defence, it wasn't her fault that the press conference regarding recent archaeological discoveries in Europe, had been so unbelievably dull that it must have had a spell cast over the event, to ensure it was supernaturally boring. Alex would rather sit around in an airport terminal for thirteen hours waiting for a delayed flight. Nor had it been her fault that her parents had insisted she wouldn't need to bring another form of entertainment, like a book or her laptop - supposedly, it would be so 'thrilling' she'd have no choice but to be completely embossed in it all.

So with her the attention of her parents undoubtedly fixated on the event's presenters, Alex had slipped off to find a vending machine, the precious euros she had clinking softly in the pocket of her jacket. Then, once she'd consumed what she'd purchased of cheap French confectionary, Alex had caught sight of what could have only been the famous Eiffel Tower, only a matter of streets away.

So she'd gone for a little wander, and left a note to explain her absence with her parents, who hadn't acknowledged her in the slightest when she slipped back into that tear-wrenchingly boring conference to inform them of her whereabouts. Considering they'd deprived her of any other options, Alex had felt rather justified in taking a few more euros from her father's wallet.

So here she was, basking in the sunshine and enjoying the glorious European springtime. The walk here had been just as lovely; the streets had been packed with tourists and cafes and cyclists, and the beckoning of French cuisine had been too much for Alex to resist. She'd spent almost forty minutes deliberating what to gorge herself on, and eventually settled down on the Parisian grass with her edible prizes as well as a book from a little vintage shop she'd nipped into.

 _Much better than that conference_ , mused Alex delightedly as she stretched out her legs, munching down the last of her crepe as she opened her new book. Honestly, she loved her parents - but why did their sole interests in a new city always have to be involved with history or archaeology? It had long become rather flat.

Alex flipped open the tome in her hands and skimmed her gaze over the opening line. _Elle émergea de l'obscurité, ses chaussures rouges luisant comme du sang frais_. She frowned. More challenging than she'd expected, and it was only the beginning sentence. But then again, her French wasn't nearly as polished as her Spanish.

" 'She emerged from darkness, her red shoes gleaming like fresh blood'," Alex translated - and then she was off, meticulously reading the French bit by bit and then flipping it to English as best as she could. She often stumbled over the phrases - but very soon the plot began to form, threading a tale of a girl named Estelle, who was the long-lost daughter of Dorothy from _Wizard of Oz_ , and was now on a quest to seek a way to destroy the barrier between Earth and Oz.

Hours passed, where Alex did little more than occasionally shift her position in the Parisian sun, gradually making her way through the book. No longer mesmerised by the monument that had first drawn her here, the minutes trickled by as Alex lay there, completely undisturbed by her fellow tourists.

It was only when Alex's face began to heat uncomfortably, indicating sunburn, did she finally lower her book and survey her surroundings. It was late afternoon; Paris was just as merrily busy as it had been around noon, when she'd slipped from the conference. Lazily, she fished out her phone from the pocket of her shorts and observed its screen.

Her eyes immediately widened when she saw that she'd received multiple calls and texts from both her parents - she _knew_ they hadn't heard a word of what she'd said about her plans for an outing, and undoubtedly the note had been lost when they'd panicked. Knowing that this day was going to end in being reprimanded no matter what escape routes she tried to take, Alex heaved a resigned sigh and jabbed the screen, raising her phone to her ear.

"Alex? Where on earth are you?" came her father's frenzied demands.

"I'm fine," Alex responded automatically, quietly dog-earing her marked page and closing the book. She resisted from rolling her eyes.

"Well, we didn't know that. We've been looking for you for hours." _The conference would have only ended about twenty minutes ago_. "Where are you?"

Alex looked around, suddenly feeling helpless. She didn't want to get punished - nor did she want to tolerate her parents' fussing _prior_ the reprimands. She'd just wanted an outing of her own accords. Was that really so much to ask?

"I'll meet you at the hotel," she said, getting to her feet rather gracelessly and beginning to jog towards the location of their hotel.

"No. We're coming to fetch you, wherever you are!"

"I'm not a dog, Dad. Chill, I'm fine. I'll be there in half an hour."

She imagined him clenching his teeth - out of exasperation and agitation, Alex was certain - as he continued, "You are a fourteen-year-old girl, _alone_ , in a foreign city -"

"It's Paris, not Morocco. And I'm better at French then you are."

"Rein in your attitude, Alexandra." Okay, she'd pushed his buttons now. _Alexandra_ was enough of an indication that she was in hot water. But the additional of her middle name was the tell-tale sign that the water she was in was boiling. "You should have stayed at the conference, exactly where we knew where you were -"

"It was boring as hell."

" _Heck_ , Alexandra. And on the contrary, your mother and I found it to be incredibly fascinating."

Alex bit back her retorts about her parents having questionable taste. Undoubtedly she'd be getting her laptop confiscated, at the least a fortnight of being grounded, and she'd probably be denied chocolate for a while too. It just wasn't _fair_.

"Where are you?" came his insist once more.

"I'm in Paris, Dad," Alex responded, before slamming down the 'end call' button and cramming the phone back into her pocket. There was an unpleasant sensation in her chest that always followed fighting with her parents, which had been happening especially often in these last few months. She hadn't exactly snuck away - she _had_ told them where she was going, and what she was doing.

Releasing an irritated grumble, Alex finally stepped off the velvety lawns and towards the hotel district. She cast one final, longing glance at the Eiffel Tower stretched into the sky behind her - it was truly awe-inspiring.

" _Vous avez l'air perdu, madame_."

Alex turned her head. The owner of the voice, who had been politely inquiring if she was lost, was a boy not much older than she. He was tall and thin, blessed with gentle features and silky blonde hair, with pale green eyes gazing at her. He was also impeccably dressed, and wheeling a red bicycle by him.

She hastily assured him that she knew where she was headed. " _Je sais où je vais, mais merci."_

The French boy inclined his head. He was handsome, she supposed, slender and pale … but she'd always preferred boys with a bit more bulk, a bit more colour. He asked of her destination, his words perfectly formed and delicious. " _Lequel est où_?"

Alex shrugged. She didn't particularly feel like speaking to anyone right now, no matter how polite or genuine or handsome they were. Deceiving him into thinking that she was close to the hotel was all too easy. " _C'est seulement une autre rue. Ça ira. Merci de demander_."

The French boy looked crestfallen, but nevertheless he offered a merry farewell as he swung a slender leg over his bicycle, slipping up onto its plushy black seat and pedalling away.

Alex watched him go, waited until his head of blonde silk had long vanished, before she finally started trekking up the street towards the hotel. Only a matter of minutes now. Then a French boy's polite inquiries would do nothing to save her from the bewildering dynamic of her parents.

Alex sighed. _Oh hell_. So much for the pleasure of reading a book under the Eiffel Tower.

 **(Yes, I know the translations are likely inaccurate)**


End file.
